New Queen, fresh crowned in the city, flower-drest, her snake-sceptre a rod,
Her orb a decked dynamite bomb, which shall shatter all earth at her nod;
But for us their newest device seems barren, and did they but dare
To bare the new Queen of the May, were she angel or demon when bare?
Time and old gods are at strife; we dwell in the midst thereof,
And they are but foolish who curse, and they are but shallow who scoff.
Let hate die out, take rest, poor workers, be all at peace;
Let the angry battle abate, and the barren bitterness cease!
Ah, pleasant and pastoral picture! Thrice welcome whoever shall bring
The sunshine of love after Winter, the blossoms of joy with the Spring!